


The secret teaching of plants

by QueenAsha



Category: Good Omens - Neil Gaiman & Terry Pratchett
Genre: Gen, Humor
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2012-12-01
Updated: 2012-12-01
Packaged: 2017-11-20 02:21:25
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,979
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/580217
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/QueenAsha/pseuds/QueenAsha
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Aziraphale takes it upon himself to cheer Crowley’s plants up. The results are less than desirable.</p>
            </blockquote>





	The secret teaching of plants

It was a Sunday morning in the late spring of 2011. Several years had passed since Aziraphale and Crowley had helped avert Armageddon and so far, neither heaven nor hell had showed any signs of trying again. Which, if you were a human inhabiting earth, was a very good thing. However, this also meant that the daily lives of heaven and hell’s footsoldiers were quite boring.  
  
Which, incidentally, was why Crowley had found himself another human indulgence: showering. Not something someone of angel stock actually needed; they either miracled themselves clean (like Aziraphale) or, like most demons, didn’t mind the smell (It helped with the image). Crowley however, liked to think himself as a clean and stylish man, so showering was just a natural step. It also helped him relax.  
  
Aziraphale wouldn’t have cared, if it weren’t for the fact that Crowley could spend hours, even days in there. Which, when he had been invited over, left him without anything to do but wait for the demon to finish off.  
  
I should have brought another book, thought Aziraphale, casting a mournful look at the pile of books by the side of the sofa. He’d read all seven of them now, and there was nothing else for him to do.  
  
His eyes scanned the room. Well, he thought, surely Crowley won’t mind if I have a little look round.  
  
Being the bibliophile he was, it was no surprise that the first thing he homed in on was Crowley’s bookshelf. However, once there, he found it alarmingly lacking. Five books. The secret teaching of plants, Monster plants, All my friends are dead, All my friends are still dead and The day of the triffids.  
  
Aziraphale had another look around the room and only now seemed to take in the number of potted plants. Parlour palms and devils ivy stood artfully placed around the room, whilst an assortment of Venus fly traps lined the window sills.  
  
Given the amount of plants in the room, and the fact that three-fifths of Crowley’s book collection was dedicated to plants of some sort, it was no leap of faith to assume that he had an interest in them. Aziraphale considered this. Crowley had never mentioned this interest to him before, it was nice to know that you could still learn things about each other after thousands of years of acquaintance.  
  
There was something off about it though. Aziraphale couldn’t quite put his finger on it, but the plants were giving off feelings. Unease. Stress. Fear.  
  
It was at this point that Crowley emerged from the bathroom, dressed in a towel and his sunglasses.  
  
“Finally, took you some time,” Aziraphale said.  
  
“’s relaxing,” Crowley sniffed. “You should try it. Besides, everyone does it.”  
  
“Not for…” he glanced down at his watch. “Twelve hours.”  
  
Crowley waved his hand dismissively. “Details, details,” he said. “What have you been doing this whole time, anyway?”  
  
“Oh, just looking at your plants, my dear,” said Aziraphale.  
  
“Really? What do you think?” Asked Crowley, grinning.  
  
“They seem to be flourishing.”  
  
“You think?”  
  
“Yes, they’re growing very well.”  
  
Crowley looked proud. “Indeed.”  
  
“How do you do it?” Asked Aziraphale, sensing that plants were a subject Crowley would be glad to talk about.  
  
“I talk to them,” said Crowley. Aziraphale looked at him oddly, so Crowley quickly continued. “Look, it isn’t easy! Takes a lot of effort, you know. The amount of one-sided conversations I’ve had with them, spending hours just telling them to grow. Yet still, some of them have the nerve to die on me.”  
  
Oddly, Aziraphale found the thought of Crowley spending his time conversing with his greenery rather endearing, though his mental image of the demon tenderly whispering to them whilst watering them every evening was about as far away from the truth as one could possibly get.  
  
When Crowley disappeared into his bedroom to find some clothes, Aziraphale was once again left alone with the plants. He noted, with a spark of unease, that the plants had felt relief when Crowley had left the room.  
  
This simply couldn’t be! How dare the plants be so rude? They should be grateful to Crowley and the work he put in to making them the most beautiful they could be.  
  
Well, he wasn’t having this!  
  
With the smallest of gestures, Aziraphale sent out a wave of comfort, making sure that each plant got a healthy dose. After a good five minutes of miracling at the plants, they finally started to calm down.  
  
There, he thought, smiling. Now they’ll appreciate Crowley–  
  
“Go– Sat– Fuck!”  
  
Aziraphale jumped, turning to the (very obviously distressed) Crowley. “My dear, what’s wrong?”  
  
Crowley looked close to tears. “My plants!” he moaned, grabbing for the nearest pot. “Stand up! Did I not teach you anything? STAND UP RIGHT NOW OR YOU’LL BE NEXT!”  
  
The plant, which now seemed to have grown in on itself and was leaning in a rather startling U-shape, gave no reaction to the verbal beating.  
  
Aziraphale stared in horror. He wanted to say something, but couldn’t for the life of him figure out how he was supposed to respond to the scene playing out before him.  
  
Crowley had now thrown himself at the Venus fly traps. “And you,” he said, waving a finger at them accusingly. “Why aren’t you eating each other? Survival. Of. The. Fittest.” Each word was punctuated by one of the pots being knocked to the floor.  
  
The plants were still calm. Apathetic even.  
  
Aziraphale finally remembered how to use his voice. “Crowley!”  
  
No reaction; the demon was now hovering over one of the plants with hybrid look of desperation and fury. “Grow! Grow!”  
  
“Crowley,” he said again. This time, Crowley heard him.  
  
“What? Can’t you see I’m despairing?”  
  
Aziraphale looked mildly uncomfortable. “Look,” he said. “Look. Look.” he looked around, searching for something to look at. He gestured to a plant, one which was only half brown. “Look. I really can’t see what you’ve got to be so worked up about.”  
  
“My plants,” said Crowley slowly, as if talking to a madman. “Only ten minutes ago, they where the best in England. Now they’re wilting!”  
  
“B-but they look much more, em, relaxed now, don’t they?” Said Aziraphale, who had the decency to look guilty. “Just looking at them makes me feel all calm.”  
  
Despite the sunglasses, Aziraphale could feel Crowley’s eyes narrow in suspicion. “You did this,” he said flatly.  
  
“What? No!”  
  
“It wasss you, wasssn’t it?”  
  
Oh dear, he’d slipped into hissing; Aziraphale was really in trouble now. Crowley looked ready to run over him with his Bentley, so Aziraphale took the only possible course of action one could do in that situation and removed himself from the room.  
  
To the untrained eye, it may have resembled fleeing.  
  
“ANGEL, GET BACK HERE THISSS INSTANCE!”  
  
Aziraphale had not gone far, opting for a hide out under Crowley’s bed. He didn’t have long, Crowley would find him soon. He had to think of something…  
  
Well, he hadn’t been the gatekeeper of Eden without learning a few tricks. He snapped his fingers.  
  
There was a startled cry from the other room.  
  
Aziraphale crawled out from under the bed and peered into the living room. His nostrils were  assaulted by an overpowering rosy smell even before he reached the room.  
  
Crowley stood in the centre of the room, looking vaguely confused as to why he was standing in a forest of roses. One of them had grown around Crowley’s arm.  
  
“Um,” said Aziraphale. “That wasn’t supposed to happen.”  
  
Crowley looked miserable. “Pleassse remove the thornsss from my arm,” he said.  
  
“Of course! Sorry dear, got a little carried away.” He reversed what he had just done, the plants growing in on themselves with a whirr in order to regain their previous shapes. He also miracled the cuts on Crowley’s arm better, as well as fixing his shirt. “There, all better,” he said.  
  
“Apart from my plants,” said Crowley, who seemed to have abandoned anger and had settled for mourning.  
  
Aziraphale did not see this as an improvement. “I apologize. I wanted them to feel better.”  
  
Crowley looked at him as if he’d gone insane. “You do realise that plants lack emotions?”  
  
“These ones don’t!” Insisted Aziraphale. “They were scared. Of you. I tried to, erm, fix that by calming them down.”  
  
“You did what?”  
  
“I made them like you.”  
  
Crowley, to Aziraphale’s surprise, buried his head in his hands and groaned. “Oh angel,” he sighed.  
  
“What?”  
  
“They’re not supposed to like me. They’re meant to fear me.”  
  
“I’m not following.”  
  
“The point is, I encourage them to grow well by talking to them. Mainly by threatening them with violence.”  
  
“So you terrorise plants?” Aziraphale was sure that he was supposed to feel angry at the fact that God’s creatures were being terrorised by a demonic presence, but figured that it was okay, so long as Crowley wasn’t hurting anybody.  
  
“It works!” Crowley defended. “Well, it used to. These are useless now. What did you do, put them in a trance? I’ll never be able to put the fear of me in them after they’ve had you doting at them.”  
  
Aziraphale snapped his fingers. “I have an idea!” he said, brightening.  
  
“What?”  
  
“I’ve made them like you, but I could still make them fear me!”  
  
Crowley hissed a laugh. Then, when he realised that Aziraphale wasn’t joking, as he had first assumed, he sobered up. “You think that could work?”  
  
“Of course. I am a warrior of God!” With a mop of curly blond hair, rounding middle and dressed in tartan, he looked like anything but.  
  
Crowley didn’t seem to care. “Give it your best shot,” he shrugged.  
  
Aziraphale walked over to the one remaining Venus fly trap. He gave it a glare. “You have been a very bad plant,” he told it.  
  
The plant did nothing.  
  
“Don’t try that on me mister! Or misses,” he added quickly, not wanting to offend it. “You need to get back into your old shape right this instance!”  
  
This did not scare the plant.  
  
“Well, I’m shocked! Really thought you could have done it. I promise you, you inspired fear in us all,” said Crowley unconvincingly.  
  
“Shush, I’m not done,” said Aziraphale. “This is your last chance. Do as I say or I’ll…” he leaned forward and whispered something, his voice to low for Crowley to hear.  
  
Now, it is common knowledge that plants can’t make sounds. However, if they could, they would sound much like the sound that filled the room as the Venus fly trap tore away at its roots. The pot fell and smashed, the plant joining its fallen comrades on the floor.  
  
Crowley stared. “Did it just commit suicide?”  
  
“I’m not sure.”  
  
“No really, I think it just threw itself off the window sill,” said Crowley.  
  
“Don’t be silly.”  
  
“No, really, really. I… what did you say to it?”  
  
Aziraphale shifted guiltily and muttered something under his breath.  
  
“What was that?”  
  
“I may have mentioned that I knew the location of my sword.,” said Aziraphale. “I didn’t mean for it to jump!”  
  
Crowley looked up. “Well, at least it worked.”  
  
“It died! That isn’t what I’d call a success.”  
  
“He took one for the team,” said Crowley. “Look.”  
  
Aziraphale did. In the time since he’d spoken to the fly trap, the few remaining plants seemed to have perked up tremendously. In fact, they almost looked better than they had before!  
  
“Huh,” said Aziraphale. “How did they hear what I said?”  
  
“Maybe they hear at a different frequency?” suggested Crowley.  
  
“Plants can’t hear.”  
  
“Yes they can.”  
  
“No they can’t. God didn’t give them ears.”  
  
“Are we really having this argument now, after we’ve established what an affect talking to them actually has?”  
  
Aziraphale sighed. “Okay, okay. I am sorry, you know.”  
  
“It’s okay, just don’t…”  
  
“Yes my dear?”  
  
“Don’t go near my plants. Ever again.”


End file.
